Severance
by RougeAngleOfSatin
Summary: Hashirama faces Madara in battle for the first time.


**A/N: **This is an idea I've had for a while, but I don't think I've done it justice. Feedback is love.

Also just in case anyone is unaware, 'Anija' is what Tobirama calls Hashirama and means 'older brother'. (It's the same thing as 'aniki', just an old-fashioned version.)

* * *

They didn't pursue the Uchiha. Madara's family was barely across the river before Senju Butsuma had turned away. Hashirama stood on the water, the chakra in his feet diverting the current so that he stood on a point of calm amid the turbulence.

"Tobirama, Hashirama – come," Father ordered. He marched beyond the treeline with Tobirama following close behind. Hashirama stayed just long enough to watch the shadowy forms on the opposite bank flicker out of sight before catching up to his family.

On the way home, Hashirama stole confused glances at his father. They'd had the advantage back there, Madara had admitted it aloud. He had been fully prepared to defy a command to give chase and fight, but for some reason Father had chosen to respect his enemies' retreat. The hard lines of his face were set into a troubled frown. On a normal day he might have felt curious enough to question it. He felt no curiosity now.

He'd been expecting a lecture, a beating even, for betraying the Senju so that Madara might escape. But it seemed father was biding his time; the only sounds as they made their way back to camp were the soft scuffing of earth beneath their sandals and the comings and goings of the creatures hidden in the trees. The silence made it hard not to think.

He thought of Madara.

'_The next time we meet will be on the battlefield. I am __**Uchiha**__ Madara._'

How could he give up so easily? Hashirama had been willing to stand up for their dream, so why hadn't Madara? Did it mean that...Madara cared less about their dream than he did? (Did he care less about Hashirama than Hashirama did him...) He thought of Itama, slumped bloodied and lifeless against that boulder, and of Kawarama, blown to bits. Madara knew and shared his pain, it was inconceivable. And judging by the reactions of Madara's father and brother, Madara had just awoken his Sharingan. For that to have happened...he had to care. _Right?_

When they reached the base, Butsuma went into the house without a word to either of his sons. Tobirama shifted next to him, armour clanking with the movement. "Anija, I –"

"Don't," said Hashirama, more harshly than he'd intended. Tobirama's face fell. Hashirama sighed. Tobirama had only been doing what he was told, he shouldn't angry with him. It was just difficult not to be. "I just...want to be alone for a while."

"I'm sorry," said Tobirama, "that he was an Uchiha."

Hashirama had suspected it for some time, ever since Madara's near slip of the tongue that day on the cliff. But he had never once even considered the other boy his enemy. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "So am I."

Dinner that evening was a strained affair, with just the three of them. They ate their plain rice in silence. Tobirama glanced between his father and elder brother, waiting. Like a drawn back bowstring, the tension would have to be released.

"You must kill him Hashirama," said Butsuma. His eyes were hard. "No matter what he meant to you."

Hashirama swallowed around a lump in his throat. He had killed so many people that he'd lost count somewhere along the way, but he just couldn't contemplate the idea of killing Madara. It was as wrong as if his father had told him to murder Tobirama. "No."

Butsuma slammed his bowl down onto the table. "Will you betray your family a second time? He is the enemy, and he cares _nothing_ for you!" Hashirama did not miss the doubt that crept into his father's voice during that last statement.

Hashirama lowered his head, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. "No, Father."

Butsuma took a deep breath, a muscle in his jaw working furiously as he tried to find patience with his eldest son. "You will kill him," he said at last, "or he will kill you first."

Sleep did not come easily that night. Hashirama lay awake for hours, listening to the soft whistling of Tobirama's breathing a few feet away, and seeing nothing but Madara's Sharingan, glowing in the darkness behind his eyelids.

His father was wrong; Madara couldn't have given up so easily. They would find another way.

* * *

Long weeks passed and Hashirama saw no sign of Madara. It wasn't so strange; they had never met on the battlefield before. His chest tightened every time they engaged the enemy. He could only breathe easily again when he'd looked over each dark-haired enemy and seen that Madara was not among them. There was relief yes, but also the acidic burn of disappointment. During the nights when it was his turn to take watch, he stared into the embers of their fire and imagined their next meeting and what he would say. He'd been scolded more than once for inattentiveness by his fellow sentinels.

Even though he'd been anticipating it, it was still a shock when they finally came face-to-face again. Hashirama was already in the thick of things: one enemy dead at his feet, another trying to burn him alive. He countered with a suiton, leapt over the corpse and stabbed the enemy through the heart. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his glaring Sharingan eyes dimmed to darkness. The smoke cleared as the body toppled to the ground, taking his sword with it. It was then he saw Madara staring at him. Hashirama stared back, the dead man still twitching at his feet.

He looked the same, just in different clothes. Combat clothes. Like most Uchiha, he wore no armour. They couldn't afford it, his father had told him. What armour they did have had been stolen from the dead. For a moment he looked as surprised as Hashirama felt, red eyes opened wide. Only for a moment though, before his face was wiped clean of expression. He drew his sword with a wordless rasp of steel.

"Madara." Hashirama licked his dry lips and tasted ashes. "We don't need to do this."

"Pick up your sword," Madara told him. The other boy was looking at a point past Hashirama's left shoulder. Hashirama ignored the rookie urge to follow his gaze and took a step to one side, angling his body so he could see Madara and what was going on. A man wearing the Senju insignia on his headband was coming their way. Hashirama knew him, vaguely. Blood thundered in his ears. He couldn't be seen just standing here, talking to an enemy. Reluctantly he wrenched his sword free, ignoring the vile squelching sound, and flicked the worst of the gore off the blade. Chancing a glance backwards, he saw that the other Senju had been violently waylaid. He shouldn't feel relieved about that, he thought, lowering the blade some as he faced his friend. "Thanks for that," he said with a tiny smile.

Madara did not smile back. "Defend yourself, or I'll just kill you like you are now." He took a step forward, blade upraised.

Ice spread through Hashirama's gut. "I don't want to fight you. Madara, can't we—"

"_Shut up_," Madara snarled. The gap between them closed in an instant, and the force of the blow rattled Hashirama's arm as he brought his blade up just in time. The swords flashed silver through the air as they met in a series of parries.

"You're my friend!" Hashirama shouted into his face, the X of their locked weapons trembling between them. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

Madara's face contorted as if in pain or fury, his eyes narrowed, teeth gritted. "I already told you! Shut up!"

"So you want this senseless killing to go on forever?"

"You're a childish idiot! This is the way it is!" Madara threw his full weight forward, knocking them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs and flailing swords.

They fought. Battles between shinobi tended to be short, but neither of them was using ninjutsu, and Hashirama was only concerned with defending himself long enough to make himself heard between Madara's blows. Madara would not listen. Hashirama's entreaties were only making him angry, but unlike most who swung a sword in anger, Madara actually seemed to become deadlier. Before long Hashirama's arms were like lead. They faced each other, panting for breath.

Hashirama made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

_Don't look directly at an Uchiha's eyes_ was one of the earliest lessons taught to Senju shinobi. Hashirama had faced the Sharingan plenty of times and knew better than to make such a stupid mistake.

But how could he make Madara _see _if he wasn't even looking at him?

The genjutsu ensnared him immediately, the world shrinking down to the whirring _tomoe_ in Madara's eyes then beyond into the black of his pupil, until the darkness was all around. Scenes of nightmare danced across his eyes.

_Mother._

_Kawarama._

_Itama._

Hashirama released a cry and fell to his knees; outside the illusion he did the same, tears running from the corners of his eyes. He sat blind and frozen, helpless as his family died around him. He knew it was genjutsu, and that he should agitate his chakra and escape. But now Tobirama crawled before him, like a bug half-squashed and trailing blood, screaming as he was skewered mercilessly by the blades of unseen enemies. "_No!"_

"Anija!"

The voice was real. Was Tobirama. Hashirama blinked, and looked up to see his little brother, alive and looking at Madara as if he hoped to disintegrate him with the force of his hatred. Tobirama's nails bit into his shoulder.

Madara looked between them, still panting. His grip on the sword was white-knuckled, and his hand trembled faintly. "Next time," he said, "I'll be faster. Got it, Hashirama?" It was the first time that day he'd said his name.

Hashirama didn't manage an answer before his brother had seized him by the arm and dragged him away. Madara did not pursue them. There was no suggestion that they stay and take on Madara together, for which Hashirama was deeply grateful. Tobirama was relentless until they'd reached cover inside the charred remains of a hollow tree. It was only then that he got a close look at him. Tobirama was even paler than usual.

"You must _never_, ever, let your guard down again like that!" he scolded, swatting Hashirama upside the head. "Idiot! He nearly killed you."

"So you saved me," Hashirama said, leaning his head back against the ridges of the bark. He closed his eyes, then immediately wished he hadn't. The genjutsu was still fresh in his mind. _You saved me from my best friend._

"No," said Tobirama quietly. "He had plenty of time before I could reach you. But he hesitated." From his tone, he clearly did not understand why.

But Hashirama did. It was the same reason that had made him stay his hand when he'd found openings in Madara's guard, why he'd sought to defend rather than attack. Madara's horrible genjutsu was a declaration of intent: _I will hurt you if I must._

And he had. They would fight again, but next time there would be no restraint. But sad though he was, Hashirama still believed.

There was still hope for them yet.


End file.
